


Inclement

by Erisabesu (ErisabesuFic)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Introspection, M/M, POV Hibari Kyouya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 10:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20722910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisabesuFic/pseuds/Erisabesu
Summary: “Hibari resents being cooped up. But he is not such a fool as to let tedium get the better of him.”  [2009.07.25]





	Inclement

**“Inclement”**

◊

The rain hasn’t let up in four days now.

The only place in the huge Vongola mansion where Hibari can get a break from the constant noise is in the bath, but he isn’t in the mood. When everything else in the world is wet, from a downpour so extreme that every flight out of the three closest airports has been cancelled, the last thing he wants is to submerge his body in even more water. All main and side roads out of town have been closed as well. While Hibari couldn’t care less about obeying safety regulations or allowing blockades keep him from going where he pleases, every vehicle available in the Ninth and Tenth’s garages is sporty and chic, nothing but rows of utter deathtraps.

In light of the situation, the outside Advisor instills a temporary ban on inter-Guardian sparring matches, with the warning that any who test the waters will have their box weapons confiscated indefinitely. Sawada Tsunayoshi argues that such a thing isn’t necessary, but Hibari can understand the nature these things—those who are strong are apt to go stir-crazy without an outlet, and what begins as a simple bout can quickly get out of hand.

Hibari resents being cooped up. But he is not such a fool as to let tedium get the better of him.

He is not the only one chafing under the circumstances. Sasagawa Ryohei is possibly even more annoying when cut off from the sun, and no amount of time in the training rooms or sparring in the boxing ring with Iemitsu’s subordinates helps to quiet his bellowing voice. Lambo finds new ways to cause mischief about the place, so much worse at thirteen than he ever was at five now that the concept of sexuality has hit—and with disastrous results.

The only person who seems calm about the difficulties is Gokudera Hayato, who holes up most nights in his library or putters in his lab with caustic chemicals and things that go boom—in what Sawada nervously assures everyone is a controlled environment. As far as Hibari can tell, Gokudera surfaces only when he needs food, or when he has thought up a scathing remark he can’t keep to himself any longer.

For obvious reasons Hibari has stayed far away from everyone as much as possible, seeking refuge in a part of the mansion that will soon be renovated, and thus sits empty. Today, however, he finds Yamamoto Takeshi has beaten him to it, sitting on the sill of an open window, eyes closed and rain dripping down his face.

Yamamoto hears his footsteps and crooks one eye open. Then he smiles, using a hand to shield his face so he can see. “Yo, Hibari-san.”

Hibari amends his previous thoughts on finding another who doesn’t seem bothered by the torrents of rain keeping them all locked inside. Water drips from Yamamoto’s hair, his chin, most of his suit shirt clinging damp to his body. There is a puddle on the floor underneath the window.

“Was I in your spot?” Yamamoto tilts his head. “Sorry, I’ll move. You can have it.” He touches one long leg down to the floor.

“I don’t want it.” Hibari moves inside the doorway, then leans his shoulder into the wall and folds his arms over his chest.

“Ah.” Yamamoto chuckles. “Okay then.” He closes his eyes and turns his face back into the rain, grinning. “Weather like this is so nice.”

Hibari frowns.

Yamamoto turns his head halfway back inside the room, opening one eye. “Do you like the rain, Hibari?”

Hibari shrugs. “I dislike things that interfere.”

“Haha. That makes sense.” Yamamoto reaches his arm outside, palm up, delight evident in the curl of his fingertips. “You know what?”

Hibari makes no response, and Yamamoto continues anyhow.

“I used to not like the rain.” Yamamoto’s smile crooks wry, like saying this aloud is a kind of confession. “You can’t play baseball in the rain. You can’t practice baseball in the rain. Can’t run the bases if the field’s all muddy, and pitchers can’t grip the ball right. Anything you manage to hit will just slip right off the bat and go foul. Rainy days were the worst for me for as long as I can remember.”

Hibari watches as Yamamoto pauses, looking thoughtful.

“But you know? So much is different now.” Yamamoto curls his outstretched hand into a fist, Vongola ring visible on his finger. “Rain like this can be useful, you know? If you have the affinity. I wouldn’t have to conjure any of this—with the ring, I could just use it. Camouflage, shield, offensive forms—anything I want. Right here in unlimited quantity… it’s kind of thrilling.”

Yamamoto ends with a laugh and Hibari’s eyes narrow—for something in the man’s casual stance is changing, slowly, something Hibari’s instincts warn could prove interesting.

Yamamoto wipes at some of the water trickling down his face, and chuckles. “It’s been raining like this for days, and I can’t help sitting here and hoping we’ll be attacked. Ten… twenty… Doesn’t matter how many—I could take them all out.” He snaps his dripping fingers, a gunshot pop. “Just like that. Every last one of them.”

Yamamoto’s brows furrow, just for a moment, and Hibari sees a flash of the kind of battle lust that only the best—the naturals—have inside them.

That one instant is enough; Hibari’s neck prickles and his belly tightens with the urge to climb out that window into the pouring wet, draw his tonfa and find out exactly how dangerous this man could be when given such an advantage. He’s seen Yamamoto fight before, and while it is always impressive, Hibari finds the idea of experiencing Yamamoto at his fullest—this swordsman of the rain with all that hidden potential and wealth of surprises—more than exciting. Seeing him completely unleashed would be something really special.

And fighting him directly could be even better.

Before Hibari can voice his challenge—Sawada Iemitsu’s warning be damned—Yamamoto breaks into a laugh, his dry hand rubbing the back of his head.

“But that’s so silly, isn’t it? I mean, how could I want us to be attacked? People could get hurt. That’s not very funny, is it.”

The moment of shared killer intent fades into the constant hum of rainfall on the roof and walls of the mansion around them, but it doesn’t quite dissipate altogether.

“Yamamoto Takeshi.” Hibari locks both eyes with his, standing to his full height, hands loose at his sides.

“Hmm?”

“If this building is attacked while I am here, do not expect me to share the prey.”

“Heh.” Yamamoto’s eyes harden to the gloss of wet slate, and that feeling—that buzz in the air that warns of the presence of a worthy adversary—tingles and sparks across the distance between them. “We’ll just see about that.”

Hibari’s lips curl on one side, half a smirk and half a snarl. Yamamoto’s answering smile is sharp and dangerous, secretive and tempting. It’s no surprise Hibari decides he likes this Yamamoto best. If it takes four days of rainfall to bring him out—so be it. He can handle a little rain.

Hibari leaves Yamamoto there in the window, knowing there will be another chance one day for them to cross weapons without risking any interference. But if enemies of the Vongola should decide to use this opportunity to attack headquarters?

Fighting Yamamoto over a herd of prey might be the next best thing.

—

Ω


End file.
